Raglan Castle

Listen first. Wind moves through empty window frames high above you, and jackdaws call from ledges where carved stone once framed glass. Underfoot, the grass is soft and close-cropped. Ahead, pale sandstone walls rise in tall, broken faces, warm grey in some light and almost honey-coloured in others. This is Raglan Castle, a short drive southwest of Monmouth, and it is not quite what most people expect a castle to be.

Many castles in Wales were built by English kings to hold down a conquered land. Raglan is different. It belongs mostly to the fifteenth century, which is late for a castle. By then, cannons were changing warfare, and great families wanted comfort and show as much as defence. So this place is part fortress, part statement. It was built to keep enemies out, but also to impress every guest who rode up the hill.

The man behind the first great phase was William ap Thomas. He was a Welsh gentleman who rose through service and a good marriage. He fought in France under Henry the Fifth, the king remembered for Agincourt. On his return, he began to rebuild Raglan on a grand scale. His most striking work stands apart from everything else around you: the Great Tower, once known as the Yellow Tower of Gwent, after the colour of its stone.

Look for it now. The Great Tower stands outside the main walls on its own island, ringed by a moat. It is not round and not square. It is hexagonal, with six sides. A drawbridge once linked it to the rest of the castle, so the tower could be cut off completely. If the rest of Raglan fell, the family could retreat here. A castle inside a castle, in other words, and a clear sign of a lord who trusted nobody fully.

William ap Thomas died in the middle of the fifteenth century, and his son took Raglan to its height. This was William Herbert. He chose the Yorkist side in the Wars of the Roses, the long struggle for the English crown between two branches of the royal family. His loyalty brought great rewards. He became one of the most powerful men in Wales and was made Earl of Pembroke. Much of the grand gatehouse and the rooms around the courtyards belong to his time.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. For several years, a young boy lived in this castle as Herbert's ward. His name was Henry Tudor. He was a child of the rival Lancastrian side, and Herbert held his wardship. Years later, that boy won the crown at Bosworth and became Henry the Seventh, the first Tudor king. So the founder of the Tudor dynasty spent part of his childhood behind these walls.

Herbert's own story ended badly. In 1469 he was captured after a battle against rebels and was executed. Raglan later passed by marriage to the Somerset family, who became the Earls of Worcester. They kept the castle for generations, and they softened it. They added finer rooms, larger windows, and gardens and terraces on the slopes outside. One Elizabethan earl built a long gallery, a fashionable room where people walked indoors, talked, and showed off portraits.

Walk to the gatehouse and look up. Near the top of the towers, the stone juts outward on a row of supports. These are machicolations, openings in the floor of an overhanging parapet. Defenders could drop stones or shoot down on anyone at the gate. At Raglan they were partly practical and partly decoration. They made the entrance look dangerous, and that was the point. A visitor would feel the family's power before stepping inside.

Pass through and you enter the first courtyard, called the Pitched Stone Court, after its paving of stones set on edge. This was the working side of the castle. Kitchens, a buttery for drink, and service rooms stood around it. Beyond lies the Fountain Court, the grander side, with private lodgings and state rooms. Between them stood the great hall. Try to picture a roof overhead, painted plaster, tapestries, and the noise of a full household at dinner.

Now look high on the walls. You will see fireplaces hanging in mid-air, with no floor beneath them. Each one marks a room that once existed on an upper storey. The timber floors and roofs are long gone, so the fireplaces stay behind like markers. Count them, and you start to understand how many rooms were stacked here. It is one of the easiest ways to rebuild the castle in your mind.

The ruin itself comes from the English Civil War of the seventeenth century, the conflict between King Charles the First and Parliament. The Somerset family held Raglan for the King. In 1646, Parliamentary forces besieged it. After weeks of bombardment, the garrison surrendered that summer. Raglan was one of the last places in the country to hold out for the royalist cause. Its long resistance made Parliament determined that it would never be used again.

So the castle was slighted, which means deliberately damaged so it could not be defended. Look again at the Great Tower. Two of its six sides are gone. Workers undermined the walls until a large section collapsed. Afterwards, much of the castle's lead, timber, and fittings were taken away, and local people reused stone for their own buildings. The gap in the tower is not decay from the passing years. It is a political decision, made on purpose, and you can still see exactly where it happened.

Today the castle is cared for by Cadw, the Welsh government's historic environment service. The site is open to the sky, and it changes with the weather. On a bright day the stone looks warm and almost golden. Under cloud it turns grey and heavy. From the upper levels you can look out over green farmland toward the hills of Monmouthshire, the same view the Herberts and Somersets once claimed as their own.

Before you leave, stand still by the moat for a moment. Look at the reflection of the Great Tower in the water, with its missing walls. Then turn back toward the gatehouse and its overhanging parapet. Between those two points sits the whole story: a family's rise, a king's childhood, a long siege, and a deliberate ruin. As you walk out across the grass, listen again for the jackdaws. They are the castle's only residents now.